We Just HAD To Investigate, Didn't We Sherlock?
by skinnylovebird
Summary: Johnlock, Zombie Fic. M rated for later chapters, ie: violence, sex and drugs. Summary: John, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson are the only ones left untouched (Or so they think) when the whole town is struck with a strange 'sickness'. They must find out how it happened, and how to avoid their unusually pushy neighbours. (M/M, possible character death.) I own nothing.
1. A Strange Beginning

Waking up, John felt uneasy, like he'd had a nightmare but couldn't remember it. His hair messier than his bed, he got up and proceeded to take a long shower to get rid of the feeling. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom, releasing a puff of steam and smelling like cologne. Briefly wondering where Sherlock was, then spotting the distinct form under a pile of blankets on the couch, he made himself tea.

The steam curled up from the cup in a grey sliver, dissolving into the air. Lifting the cup, John Watson took a sip and promptly burnt his tongue.

"Bloody!...Ow."

Setting the cup on the coffee table, he stuck his tongue out between his lips in an attempt to cool it. The pile of blankets on the couch against the wall began to shift, and a distinctly messy head of brunette curls emerged.

"John, I'm trying to think. Can't you ineptly burn yourself in the kitchen?"

"No." John rolled his eyes in annoyance and went back to the paper. Outside, a door slammed and shouting ensued.

"Wonder what that's about?" John said absently.

Sherlock rolled over on the couch to glare at John, only his eyes and hair poking out of the blankets.

"He's just gone and spent their daughter's college-fund at the casino. Will you please be quiet?"

John flipped the page loudly, and Sherlock huffed. Life at the flat had been peaceful for a few days. Or at least, as peaceful as you can get around Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock hadn't gotten a call from Lestrade about any cases, and the sociopath was slowly tearing up the apartment. After a few minutes, something odd was noticeable. Looking up from his paper, John noticed a strange lack of noise and spoke uneasily.

"Sherlock...?"

There was an unnatural silence permeating the flat, and the shouting match outside had abruptly stopped. There were no noises from the surrounding buildings. Sherlock threw the blankets across the room and onto John, who hissed at him to be quiet.

"Listen! What's going on down there?"

"I don't know. Stay here, I'm going outside."

"Like bloody hell I'm staying inside." Adrenaline beginning to pump through him, John donned his coat quickly and followed Sherlock, who was still in pyjamas. Mrs. Hudson's room was quiet, and John gave a quick knock on her door. She opened it a crack to see who it was, and scowled at John.

"It's six thirty in the morning, can't you bother about another time?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson, just stay in your flat. Sherlock and I are investigating something happening outside, and I don't want you to get in any trouble."

John's words seemed to wake her up, and she nodded before closing and locking the door. He turned around, and realized that Sherlock had gone out the door a good three minutes ago.

"Damn!"

Marching in worry out the front door of their flat, he looked around the street for Sherlock. He was nowhere to be seen. Then suddenly, a window was broken on the second floor of an apartment on the other side of the street, and John ran towards the scene.

"Sherlock!"


	2. The Crowd Doesn't Like The Hat

Inside the apartment, Sherlock was having some issue with the situation. He'd never liked the man living across the street, and he had good reason to. He was a compulsive liar, cheat, and gambler. There had even been signs of him abusing the young girl and her mother living in the flat with him.

However, he couldn't worry about that now. The man was advancing on him, with an unnatural gait that made him confused. There was a stiffness about the limbs, like he was a marionette being shuffled along in his direction. The woman appeared in the doorway, and immediately picked the nearest thing up and threw it at him. Sherlock narrowly avoided the flying lamp, and it crashed through the window behind him and onto the street. Suddenly, he heard John's worried voice calling his name out and he sped into action.

Ducking under the man's outstretched arms and dashing past the angry wife, he sped out the door. Inside the apartment, the woman took a sip of water to calm her nerves from the fight with her husband and the unexpected intruder. The glass tumbled to the floor and shattered.

Standing on the street outside, Sherlock waited as John ran over.

"Sherlock! What were you _doing_ in there?" John panted, breathless from sprinting over.

"I was merely seeing if the child was okay. The father and mother assaulted me, and I got out of there with haste. I'm fine, John."

John scowled at Sherlock, but felt relieved that no harm had come to him.

"Well, then what's happening with the rest of the street? It's all dead silent."

"Yes, that _is_ strange."

Doors began to open, and people started to walk out. Instead of walking to their cars, every body on the street turned to face the sound of their conversation and began to slowly shift towards it.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Back to the flat?"

"Yep."

They began to sprint back to the flat, hurriedly shutting the door and locking themselves in.

"This is just a bit too weird for me. Why is everyone acting so strange? And isn't it a weekday? Shouldn't they be at work or something?" John was talking frantically, pacing around the room and watching a crowd gather around their front door.

"Sherlock, maybe they're fans. Put on your hat and lean your head out the window, see if they react."

Sherlock reluctantly put on the hat, and shot a look at John, who made a 'go on' gesture. He opened the window and looked out, striking a pose for added effect. While there had been some motion and noise in the crowd, grunts and groans and shifting around, when Sherlock appeared, the noise went dead. There was no sound, no movement, just twenty pairs of fixated, dilated eyes on Sherlock. Removing his head from the window quickly, he closed it and shut the curtains.

"They're not fans. One of them would have fainted by now."

John scoffed.

"As if."

They pondered the reasons for a growing crowd to be converging at their flat, John coming up with nothing and Sherlock dismissing options as more and more unlikely and ludicrous. A sharp and drawn out scream broke the silence.

"Mrs. Hudson!"


End file.
